


It's Raining

by noodlebowl



Series: be known in its aching - a widomauk collection [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety, Caleb Widogast Angst, Caleb Widogast Deserves Nice Things, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Caleb Widogast is a Mess, Caleb Widogast-centric, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Canon LGBTQ Character, Critical Role Spoilers, Hurt Caleb Widogast, I wrote this instead of my chemistry report, M/M, Matt Mercer - Freeform, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, POV Mollymauk Tealeaf, Sad Caleb Widogast, Self-Loathing Caleb Widogast, Social Anxiety, Taliesin Jaffe - Freeform, critical role - Freeform, critrole, liam o'brien - Freeform, widomauk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22971658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlebowl/pseuds/noodlebowl
Summary: “You’ll freeze to death like that. C’mon, off with it.”“What do you mea—““Caleb, darling, you’resoaked.You can’t possibly sleep comfortably like that.”——The Mighty Nein find themselves caught in the rain, and seek shelter for the night. Molly helps Caleb undress so he won't catch a cold. Scars and secrets from the past are shared.[ SPOILERS FOR C2E18 ]
Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Series: be known in its aching - a widomauk collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650955
Comments: 9
Kudos: 314





	It's Raining

**Author's Note:**

> School is kicking my ass lately, I should be writing papers instead of this, but nah. Priorities, am I right? This was sitting unfinished in my drafts, so I wrote an ending and here it is, seeing the light of the day. Caleb and Molly are my favourite boys :-/ I just want them to be happy tbh.
> 
> Content warning: descriptions of scarring, wounds and anxiety. Not graphic enough to earn an archive warning, but figured I should mention it anyway.
> 
> [ SPOILERS FOR C2E18 ]

It’s raining.

Molly scuffles into the tent at record speed, head heavy with exhaustion. He immediately unlaces and kicks off his boots, turning them upside down and watching the water drip out with a deep sigh. So much for a good day’s worth of travel on the road. 

He can hear Jester laugh in the tent further away, along with Beau. Jester had been relatively unbothered by the rain, whereas Nott had scowled. Fjord is silent and so is Nott, probably getting ready for sleep on their own accord.

Caleb shuffles into the tent after Molly, parting the flaps and letting out a heavy sigh just as Molly sets his boots aside along with his coat, carefully finding them a place that’s not as wet as the rest of the tent. 

Molly starts peeling off jewellery from his fingers, horns and ears, carefully wrapping them in cloth and putting them into his pouch. When he’s finished, he turns back around to find Caleb still standing there, dripping heavily. 

His ragged coat looks cleaner, as if the rain was the equivalent of a wash. His hair is clinging to his face, his _cleaner_ face. Freckles have appeared in place of dirt and mud. He looks different, that’s for sure, but it’s not a _bad_ type of different. Molly’s never had anything against Caleb’s attire, no matter the amounts of dirt against his skin and in his hair. But he definitely likes seeing him like this. Washed. 

He’s handsome, Molly will easily admit to thinking so. He thinks just about _anyone_ would, really. Jester hasn’t hesitated to mention it, neither has Nott. But that was back when they’d just met him too, when he’d still had dried flecks of mud stuck to his cheeks, clinging to his beard and his hair. 

But without the mud, it’s even more obvious. His cheekbones poke out just a bit, his scruffy beard accentuating his ‘raw’ look even more. Whereas he’d looked rough (not to mention homeless) before, he just looked like one of the regular townsfolk now — a tired and cold one, nonetheless.

Molly however can’t help but snort at Caleb’s posture. He looks so much like Frumpkin, caught in the rain, and is suddenly relieved they didn’t bring him back just yet. He doubts a cat would have liked the rain, no matter how Fey. He shivers occasionally, lips a bit blue. His teeth aren’t chattering, though, and that’s always something.

“What’re you standing about for?” Molly asks, amusement barely suppressed in his tone.

Caleb looks at him, confused.

“Wh—“

Molly wastes no time. He’s tired, sure, but he’s not going to abandon Caleb like this. Not without making sure he's taking proper care of himself.

“You’ll freeze to death like that. C’mon, off with it.”

“What do you mea—“

“Caleb, darling, you’re _soaked._ You can’t possibly sleep comfortably like that.”

Molly swears he sees a momentary smile, as if Caleb likes proving him wrong, even like this.

“I could, I have— I have done it before. Mollymauk, this… It does not concern you.”

“It _does,_ actually. I can’t possibly sleep knowing you’ll be shivering all night long. And we can’t have our favourite clever wizard catch a cold, can we?”

Caleb remains silent for a bit.

“…Ja, okay.”

He slowly nods, starting to peel off his coat along with his trusty scarf, grimacing as the fabric and yarn drips and sticks to his skin. He gets his hands free, and then stands with it in his arms, clearly unsure what to do next.

Molly extends his hands in return, reaching for it.

“Here, it’s no problem. You get the rest of that off, and in the meantime I’ll hang this up to dry.”

Caleb hands him the coat hesitantly, and Molly catches a glimpse of him unbuckling his boots and pulling them off, balancing on one leg for a moment.

Molly hums some tune he’s heard in a tavern recently, hanging up Caleb’s coat along with his scarf on a perch of the tent, letting it silently drip. It hangs next to his own coat, which isn’t nearly as wet. Molly made sure to put it away once the sky opened up and it began pouring down.

Molly turns back around to Caleb, watching him carefully set aside his harness and the books that go with it, watching him undo his belt, watching him pull off his tunic. 

Molly takes the tunic from Caleb’s hands as well, hanging it up to dry next to his coat. It drips, but not as much as the coat does, leaving what’ll have turned into a fine puddle by morning.

While Caleb carefully puts his books away, finding a safely dry place for them, Molly tugs off his thin linen shirt, exhaling freely when it slips off and the fabric stops clinging to him like the wind is blowing him away. It certainly feels a lot better than before. 

He considers slipping out of his trousers as well, leaving himself in his smallclothes only. The problem is, he’s not sure if he’s wearing small clothes at the moment either — and he doesn’t want to give poor Caleb a heart attack. 

He grimaces at the fabric that hugs his legs even tighter now that it’s soaking wet, but shrugs. It’ll simply have to do, and hopefully it’ll be dry by morning.

So he turns to look at Caleb, to ask him about the bedding situation, when he sees him just standing about once again. He’s gotten his coat off along with the tunic, and his boots are in the corner as well, hopefully a bit drier tomorrow than today. But he’s still absolutely _soaked,_ it almost pains Molly to see it.

His thick hair, which normally curls a bit, is still sticking to his cheeks, some of it in his eyes. It doesn’t look too comfortable, it’s dripping on him, on his shoulders, and making his own linen shirt even wetter. A linen shirt that Molly wasn’t even aware Caleb _owned_ and wore nonetheless. It’s white — or, it _was_ white. Now it’s a bit splotchy from good use and less bathing.

Silence falls over them for a bit. Caleb shivers as a droplet of water falls from his hair, sliding down his cheek.

Molly makes his way over to him, who looks up in return at the sudden approach. He squints, really, strands of auburn his eyes, darkened by the water that continues to drip. Molly slowly extends a hand, and Caleb jerks back immediately, looking both startled and confused by the approach.

Molly blinks, and so does Caleb. Their eyes are interlocked, exchanging a look that speak volumes. Molly’s eyes are kind— yet confused. Pleading, perhaps. Whereas Caleb’s are nothing but confused, somehow with an underlying tone of uncertainty, of fright. Anxiousness.

Molly tries again, extends a hand, and Caleb doesn’t move this time around. So Molly carefully brushes away the hair that’s in his face, tugging it behind Caleb’s ear gently.

Caleb’s breath hitches in his throat as he breathes in. Molly offers a smile, and Caleb breathes out again, shakily, but less anxiously.

Caleb looks at Molly, looks between his eyes as he does so. eyebrows furrowed as he stares at him. Molly isn’t sure if he’s trying to decode him, to read him like a book, or if as lost as he’d been before.

Then, he averts his gaze, taking a step back. Molly blinks as the moment ends, taking in all of Caleb this time.

His arms are crossed, his _bandaged_ arms, he notices. Those same bandages are just as soaked as his hair is, if not even more. And he’s gripping them tightly, stopping them from unveiling. He’s determined, but he seems uncomfortable, and Molly isn’t sure it’s from the fact that he’s soaked to the bone and shivering.

“Caleb? You alright?”

“Ja— ja, I am.”

Silence for a bit more. Caleb shifts and clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable by the sudden change in atmosphere, the mood of the tent having changed completely in a matter of seconds. Of having all the attention on him. Molly is glad it’s just the two of them around during this, he would never put Caleb under the spotlight like this in a crowd.

“Um— If that is all, then I will be going to sleep now.“

“Caleb… You’ll catch a cold if you sleep with that on.”

The silence continues for a bit more. Caleb grips his arms tighter, staring at the ground. Even though he seems anxious, he stands his ground. It’s almost admirable, if only it wasn’t in this situation. Molly isn’t dumb — he’s not _this_ dumb. He knows what to expect, knows what Caleb must be hiding behind those wraps. He’s not sure of the extent and of the origin, but he has a few ideas, a few theories. And all of those theories bring him nothing but concern for the other man.

“I won’t look if you don’t want me to, okay?” He exhales softly, breaking the silence that looms, the silence that Caleb refused to fill with an answer. “I’ll put out the lantern and you can do it in peace.”

Then, slowly, Caleb shifts. “…Nein, that is— that is not necessary.”

Molly slowly nods, understandingly so. Once again, the admiration he has for Caleb is clear. This is not the same man that he met those weeks ago in the taven in Trostenwald, this is someone else. He’s opened up quite a bit, been more honest, been more free. And Molly has only encouraged him along the way.

But no matter how much he’s opened up, there are still tons of things that Molly doesn’t know about Caleb. But even though Caleb continues to look at the ground, he lets go of his arms and tilts his head a bit, as if he wants to look up but isn’t sure about the final decision. Molly catches a glimpse of freckles and clean skin, of anxious blue eyes, watching eyes. He’s not certain how he feels about it.

Then, it occurs to him that he owes him an answer. “Right— uh, okay… Do you want to—?” 

He stutters a bit along the way, unsure what to say or do to make it all just a bit more bearable for Caleb. But in return, Caleb doesn’t move an inch. 

“I won’t look if you don’t want me to, Caleb.”

“…But I _do_ want you to.”

Molly blinks. Once in confusion, twice in complete shock. Did he hear that correctly?

“…Wh—“

“I am tired.” Caleb exhales sharply along with the words. “I am tired of lying, and— and of hiding and being a _coward.”_

“Caleb—“

 _“Nein,_ du verstehst nicht, du verstehst _nichts,_ du—“

“Caleb.”

“Ich kann nicht, I— I can’t—“

_“Caleb.”_

Silence. Caleb is still looking at the ground, his hands clasped around his arms again, keeping the wraps securely in place. Molly takes one look at him, and then sighs.

“Caleb. I’m not here to judge you, I’m here to help. So… Will you let me?”

Caleb gulps. Molly lets him, waiting for his answer. He doesn’t pry. And then, slowly, Caleb nods. 

“…Ja. Ja, I— I will.”

Molly hums in response, carefully taking a hold of Caleb’s arms, the right one to be exact. Caleb shifts, as if he wants to shy away from the touch, to pull his arm away. He’s not looking Molly in the eyes either.

Molly doesn’t want to stare. He understands privacy, but Caleb is right there. He doesn’t necessarily want to pry, he doesn’t want to spy on him. He wants to be able to give him the space that he wants and so desperately needs.

But Molly also cares. He cares a lot more than he lets on. Especially for Caleb.

So when he shakily undoes the bandages on his arms, Molly’s breath hitches in his throat. 

Caleb’s skin is pale, getting paler along the wrist. Caleb’s skin looks soft, a bit hairy but soft. Tender, at most, like most humans do. He’s a bit skinny, a bit bony, but not unhealthily so. Faint freckles are dusted across the edges of his arm here and there. Flecks of a paintbrush against a canvas, like breadcrumbs on a piece of parchment. Constellations, accidents.

But that’s not what Molly looks at first.

Up Caleb’s arm, starting from just above the wrist, are several white lines. They stretch across his skin, breaking the constellations of freckles with their sharp edges and sandpaper reality. They’re long, broad and unbearably _real._ They’re bumpy, the skin having healed, but not completely and successfully so. It’s as if there was something in the way, an obstacle. Something to heal _around,_ to heal over.

Molly stares. He knows it’s rude to, but he can’t tear his eyes away.

When he finally looks up, he expects to see tears in Caleb’s eyes. Instead, he sees nothing. Just an empty void of the cold reality that is his skin. The reality that Caleb is used to this, that he is used to _this._

It’s almost enough to break Molly’s heart. _Almost._ He certainly felt it crack.

And Caleb’s tears, the tears that have been suppressed for years, the tears that he somehow couldn’t cry, even when he tried his hardest to, tried his hardest to feel something, _anything,_ somehow find their way to Molly’s eyes. They find their release with him. A vessel.

And they run. Down his cheeks, staining the fabric of his already-soaked shirt. Liquified lavender.

Molly only has two years of life experience. Who he was before, he has no idea, no memory. He woke up and dug his way out of the ground, starting over. A blank slate and a fresh start. 

He has had vast experiences of the world around him, he’s had to learn the rules and guidelines of it all over again. He’s met people that were nice, and people that were less nice. And it didn’t take long for him to decide what kind of person he wanted to be himself.

So _this,_ the sharp reality of Caleb’s skin and his life, his pain, is completely foreign to Molly. He knows that people can be dicks, he’s learned that the hard way during his two years of traversing on the earth, but he’s never seen anything quite like this. He’s never seen this much contained cruelty, buried in someone. In Caleb.

Their past interactions, spread out over the time they’ve known each other click -- Caleb’s secrecy, his privateness, his general social awkwardness and his crippling anxiety. If he has been hurt _this_ much by someone in his past, it’s not a surprise at all that he is so slow to build up new relationships, that it’s difficult for him to trust. 

It’s a wonder that he trusts at all.

And suddenly a wave of relief hits Molly, flooding his limbs from head to toe. The numbing coldness from before gives way to a feeling of proudness and of hope. And even though the freezing sensation from before is there, lurking, Molly can’t help but ignore it when his heart warms.

Caleb showed him this - he trusted him enough to see this part of him. And that in itself is already a major improvement on his part, a sign of opening up. Sure, Caleb struggles, they all do, but this means major progress. And hopefully they’ll become even better at it in the future. Who knows what tomorrow holds?

Molly hesitantly wipes away the tears with the back of his hand, then exhales a shaky breath through a faint smile. He looks back up at Caleb, and isn’t surprised to see the cold expression twist into a grimace of uncomfort, awkwardness and surprise.

“...Why— why are you smiling?”

Molly wipes another few tears away quickly, this time letting out a soft chuckle, almost out of panic.

“I’m just… I’m glad. I’m glad that you trusted me enough to show me this.”

Silence falls over them. Caleb’s eyebrows are furrowed as he tries to process this, to understand Molly’s reaction.

“I’m proud of you.” Molly continues. “...And I’m also sorry for you. But mostly proud.”

Caleb scoffs in response, but there’s a faint hint of a smile, tugging at the corner of his lips. It makes Molly breathe a sigh of relief in return.

“I know you don’t like compliments, I just figured you should know, yeah?”

This time, Caleb nods, taking a deep breath. Then, he retracts his hands from Molly’s own, and another bout of silence falls over them. Molly feels compelled to fill it.

“So...”

He opens his mouth to say more, only for Caleb to cut him off. His eyes are everywhere but on Molly — the ground, the tent, his own hands. It feels like an almost desperate plea on his part, but he uses a sharper tone that Molly hasn’t heard him use before.

“I do not wish to discuss them.”

Molly nods, slowly. He can accept this. It's Caleb's own choice whether to not he wants to talk about it.

But then, Caleb softens. The facade he’s put up in that moment cracks a bit, just like his voice on the second vowel.

“...But I— I wanted you to see them. So you know.”

Molly nods, biting down on his lip to hold back the questions that are threatening to spill from his mouth. Burning questions, ones that will definitely keep him up at night wondering when, why and _who._ Caleb’s skin is covered in marks that form questions. But Molly doesn’t have any answers.

“Alright.”

Molly wipes at the corners of his eyes again, one last time, to get the last few tears out of the way. Then, he moves to the lantern, opening it and moving to blow out the flame to shroud them in the darkness of the night.

Caleb stops him.

“And, um, Mollymauk?”

He turns, looking at Caleb, shrouded in the flickering light from the flame. A warm orange dances across his frame, across his skin. He’s mostly undressed, his hair still fairly wet, his calloused hands wrapped around himself, but not in a way that looks uncomfortable. Not in a way that appears as if he is hiding himself from Molly.

Slowly, his eyes meet Molly’s. Unsure blue meets gentle red.

“Danke, I… Um, _Thank you.”_

“You’re welcome, Caleb.”

And the flame dies out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Leave a kudos or a bookmark. Comment and let me know what you thought.


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